As he entered this state of profound stillness, the rampaging magma seemed to merge with his very breath. Each time his breathing deepened, the sea of fire within the magma surged into fiery waves. When his breathing steadied, the waves would quietly recede, and the magma would once again fall silent.
Time trickled by, slipping away like sand through his fingers.
It was as if the magma had suddenly lost all signs of life. The only sound was the occasional ROAR of sweeping flames, but this noise carried an aura of death and explosive power, making the place feel all the more desolate.
Suddenly, a faint stir broke the magma's calm. The source of the disturbance was, surprisingly, the hollow space within the sea of fire.
At that moment, wisps of purple-gold flame began to pour ceaselessly from Wen Qingye's body, which sat as still as an old monk in deep meditation. The flames coiled and writhed around him.
